But you are really Joe Bart?"
"Yes.
And quite at your service.
Only keep this quiet."
"Certainly.
I quite appreciate your reasons for wanting the matter kept quiet.
But see here, Mr. Morley—I shall call you so."
"It will be better," replied the ex-detective cheerfully, "and I have a sort of right to the name.
It was my mother's."
"Very good.
Then as Morley why should you not exercise your old skill and help me to find out who killed Daisy?"
"I should be delighted, and what skill remains to me is at your service.
But I am rusty now, and cannot follow a trail with my old persistence or talent.
Besides, my mind is made up as to the guilt——"
"Yes, yes," interposed Giles hastily, "you think so, but I don't agree with you.
Now listen to what I have to tell you, and I am sure you will think that it was the man who killed Daisy."
"But he had no motive."
"Yes, he had.
I'll tell it to you concisely."
Morley looked surprised at Giles' insistence, but nodded without a word and waited for an explanation.
Giles related all that he had learned about Wilson, and how Steel had connected him with the supposed clerk who had served the summons on Morley.
Then he proceeded to detail Steel's belief that the so-called Wilson was a burglar, and mentioned the fact of the yacht with the strange name.
Morley listened in silence, but interrupted the recital with a laugh, when the scarlet cross was mentioned in connection with the robbery at Lady Summersdale's house.
"Steel has found a mare's nest this time," he said coolly. "He knew better than to come to me with such a cock and bull story, although he has imposed very successfully on you and on that Hungarian Princess you talk of.
I had the Summersdale case in hand."
"I know.
Steel said that you carried it through successfully."
Morley demurred. "I don't know if you can say that I was successful, Ware. It was not one of my lucky cases.
I certainly got back the jewels.
I found them in their London hiding-place, but I did not catch one of the thieves.
They all bolted."
"In The Red Cross yacht."
"Oh, that's all rubbish," said Morley frankly; "there were a great many yachts at Bexleigh on that occasion. I don't remember one called The Red Cross.
And even if one of that name was there, it does not say that it is the same that was off Gravesend the other day."
"Six months ago," corrected Giles gravely; "but how do you account for the fact that wherever that yacht has been burglaries have taken place?"
"I can't account for it, and Steel has yet to prove that there is any connection between the yacht and the robberies.
He thinks it a kind of pirate ship evidently.
Not a bad idea, though," added Morley musingly; "the goods could be removed easily without suspicion on board a good-looking yacht."
"And that is what has been done."
"It wasn't in the matter of Lady Summersdale's jewels," retorted the ex-detective. "I found those in London, and have reason to believe that they were taken there by train.
Besides, there was no connection between the yacht and that robbery."
"Steel said that a scarlet cross was found in the safe, and——"
"And," interrupted Morley, "there you have the long arm of coincidence, Ware.
That cross belonged to Lady Summersdale, and was one of the trinkets left behind.
If you want proof on this point, you have only to ask Lady——no, I forgot, she is dead.
However, I daresay her son or daughter will be able to prove that the cross was hers."
Giles was much disappointed by this explanation, which seemed clear enough.
And if any one should know the truth, it would be the man who had taken charge of the case.
Failing on this point, Giles shifted his ground.
"Well, Morley," he said, "I am not very anxious to prove this man Wilson a burglar.